


the sex and coffee thing

by saltsanford



Series: the sex and coffee verse [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Mutual Pining, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 02:58:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9052486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltsanford/pseuds/saltsanford
Summary: Tucker stares at the ceiling and contemplates his options. There’s no way, absolutely no way he isn’t going to wake up with a boner, not with the starring role Wash has played in like half of his sexual fantasies lately. He could always wake up early and hop in the shower before Wash notices a thing. He could make a joke out of it.  Or he could make a move.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this a while back for tuckington bed sharing week (lmao) and i'm rather fond of it, so i thought i'd immortalize this nonsense on ao3. ENJOY!

The living room is littered with empty beer cans, and Tucker takes a moment to reflect morosely on the fact that only two of them are his. He kicks an empty cardboard case out of the way and glances around, hands on his hips. “Wanna clean this shit up in the morning?”

Wash sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Normally I’d say let’s do it now, but…I don’t think we’re going to get much done.”

He’s not wrong. There’s an absurd number of bodies draped all over various couches and floor space—bodies of their friends who are finally, _blessedly_ asleep. “Tomorrow it is.”

Wash nods. “How’s Church?”

“Eh, he’ll be fine. He and Tex have ‘broken up’ before.” Tucker makes little air quotes with his fingers and snorts. “Twenty bucks says they’re groping each other in public by tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow afternoon,” Wash corrects, and Tucker grins at him. “Is he okay to sleep, though?”

“He’ll be fine. Put his ass to bed and made sure he was lying on his side. Caboose is sleeping on his floor to keep an eye on him.”

“Good, that’s good.” Wash reaches past him and flicks off the living room light, plunging the room into darkness. “Where are _you_ going to sleep?”

“Oh, Church has a guest room down the hall—if we’re lucky, no one will be in there yet.” He wraps a hand around Wash’s wrist and tugs him down the hall, stepping over Grif and Simmons on the way. Simmons is using Grif’s belly as a pillow, and Tucker instantly whips out his phone, uploads a picture to snapchat, and captions it _lol #puppylove ????_

“You’re a good friend to him,” Wash says as Tucker leads the way. He hasn’t pulled his arm away from Tucker yet.

“Who, Grif?”

Wash snorts with laughter. “No, you idiot. To _Church_.”

“What, because of this?” Tucker waves his free arm vaguely in the direction of the beer, the wine, and their sleeping friends. “Just invited a few people over for some drinks, not like I deserve the fucking Nobel Prize.”

“Still,” Wash says, a faint exasperation creeping into his tone. “It was what he needed, and you knew that.”

“Whatever,” Tucker mumbles. The back of his neck feels oddly warm. There’s something about the way that Wash delivers compliments and praise that makes him feel like he’s on the fucking moon. “Maybe.”

They finally reach the door to Church’s guest room and Tucker pushes it open slowly. “Oh, score. No one’s in here.” He pulls Wash in after him and sweeps his arm in a flourish. “Ta-da!”

Wash’s eyes flit around the room, and he finally tugs his arm away, leaving Tucker’s hand feeling empty and strangely cold. “I—there’s only one bed.”

“Of course there’s only one bed, who the fuck has _two beds_ in their guest room? What did you think this was, a hotel room?”

Wash folds his arms over his chest. “I—I don’t know, I just…never mind. So, rock paper scissors?”

Tucker stares at him blankly. “For what?”

“For the _bed._ ”

Tucker stares at him. Wash stares back. The silence stretches on until Wash drops his arms, rubbing at the back of his head awkwardly. “Okay, never mind, I’ll take the floor, and you—”

“Wait, what? You’re not sleeping on the floor.”

“Well, I don’t want _you_ to sleep on the floor.”

“I’m not going to.” When Wash continues to look confused, Tucker rolls his eyes. “Dude. That bed can sleep two people.”

And _still,_ it takes another solid five seconds for the meaning of his words to penetrate Wash’s thick skull. “Wait—you want us to share that bed?”

“What I want is for us both to go the fuck to sleep.”

Wash eyes the bed as if it’s a boiling lava pit. “It’s so tiny.”

“Dude, it’s a queen.” Tucker eyes it as well. “Okay, maybe a full. Still. It’s fine. We’ll both fit.”

Wash hesitates, looking Tucker up and down and not in the good way. “I—are you drunk?”

Tucker rolls his eyes. “I had two beers over the course of five hours. I was on baby-sitting duty, remember? I’m not drunk. And neither are you.”

It’s true. Wash doesn’t drink. Tucker knows that. Wash _knows_ Tucker knows that, and he visibly struggles before deflating. “Well…if you’re sure it’s a good idea…”

“It’s fine, Wash.” He whips back the covers and flops onto the bed, patting the mattress next to him. “C’mon, hop in. Water’s just fine.”

Wash gives him an apprehensive look before taking a few hesitant steps towards the bed. He sits down gingerly on the edge, but leaps back up again immediately when Tucker yanks off his own shirt and starts to shimmy out of his jeans. “What are you doing?!”

“What? Dude. I’m not sleeping in my jeans.”

“Well, _I_ am.”

Tucker shrugs. “Do whatever you want, Wash.” He kicks the jeans off of his feet and chucks them off the end of the bed, yanking the covers back over him. “You gonna lay down or what?”

Wash unties his sneakers and sets them neatly by the bed. Tucker thinks he should count it a miracle that Wash took them off at all, particularly when Wash lays down _on top of the covers_. “Wash, come _on_.”

“It’s hot in here,” Wash insists. “I’m fine.”

It takes all of Tucker’s willpower not to turn that _it’s hot in here_ comment into a joke. Wash is wound up enough as it is. “Uh, no, it’s fucking freezing. It’s the middle of winter and you’re cold when it’s ninety-five fucking degrees out.” Tucker tugs at the covers underneath him insistently. “Just get under the covers, _goddamn_.”

Wash relents and lets Tucker tuck the blankets up around his shoulders. “Goosebumps already, Christ,” Tucker mutters as he flops back down. “Night Wash.”

“Goodnight,” Wash says, and he turns around until his back is to Tucker. The bed is definitely a full, so they have some room, but not much. The second one of them moves around, their limbs are going to touch. Judging by the way Wash has scooted over as far as he possibly can, the thought has occurred to him, too.

Tucker stares at the ceiling and contemplates his options. There’s no way, absolutely no way he isn’t going to wake up with a boner, not with the starring role Wash has played in like half of his sexual fantasies lately. He could always wake up early and hop in the shower before Wash notices a thing. He could make a joke out of it.

 _Or_ he could make a move.

He glances at Wash’s back out of the corner of his eye. Wash isn’t doing anything except lying there and breathing, but Tucker can practically feel him freaking out. The question is, why? They’ve never shared a bed before, sure, but they’ve shared a heck of a lot of other things. Food. The same milkshake when Grif had “forgotten” to bring them two. A tiny umbrella during a rainstorm. Tucker's favorite fluffy blanket, when they'd all huddled around the fire pit in his backyard. They've shared the big stuff, too. He’s seen Wash cry, for fuck’s sake. Sharing a bed should be nothing compared to that night.

Tucker sighs loudly and rolls over, propping himself up on one elbow. Time to throw caution out the fucking window. “Look, do you just wanna make out now and get it over with?”

It’s totally worth it when Wash whips around to face him, his cheeks paling before glowing red in the span of about two seconds. “I— _what?_ ”

“I mean…” Tucker lifts his shoulder in a shrug. “I just figure, why beat around the bush, ya know? If you wanna make out with me—”

“I don’t,” Wash says quickly. “I don’t want to make out with you.”

“Alright, man.” Tucker flops back down on the bed. “Just thought I’d address the elephant in the room.”

He turns his back on Wash once more. There’s a weird hollowness in his chest and he cycles through several emotions, trying to identify it— _horny? annoyed? confused?—_ before realizing that he actually feels a little hurt. Ridiculous. So Wash doesn’t want to make out with him. So what? There’s lots of people who’d jump at the chance to make up with him. Why should he care that one dude isn’t interested? Sure, it’s the dude he’s been lusting after for months, but that’s all it is. Lust. Okay, so _maybe_ his stomach does that flip-flop thing when Wash laughs for real, and _perhaps_ the only reason he keeps sugar in his pantry is because Wash dumps like five tablespoons in his coffee, and it’s _possible_ that he only agreed to cat-sit for Carolina’s nightmare of a tabby last month because he knew Wash would want to come over his house all the time, but that doesn’t—he isn’t—

Aw, fuck.

Tucker’s so busy being torn between berating himself for wasting such a golden opportunity and telling himself he doesn’t care about it in the first place that he almost misses Wash’s next words.

“Do _you_ wanna make out?”

Tucker slowly turns around and slants an incredulous look at Wash. “Uh, seriously?”

Wash bristles. “I just—I was just _asking_ , I didn’t actually think you—”

Tucker groans, dragging his pillow over his face. “Oh, my god,” he moans, his words muffled but hopefully still distinguishable. “You’ve gotta be fucking _kidding_ me.”

There’s a shifting on the bed as if Wash is sitting up. Seconds later, Tucker feels him trying to tug the pillow away from Tucker’s face. He latches on tightly, and Wash sighs. “ _Tucker._ ”

“Man, you are _so_ fucking dense, you know that?”

Wash falters in his attempts to free Tucker from eventual suffocation. “What?”

He sighs loudly, hurling the pillow away. Wash catches the pillow and pulls it to his chest. His arms tighten around it, jaw set and gaze fixed somewhere to Tucker’s left. He looks oddly small and vulnerable in the dim lightning, and it’s probably this that has Tucker thinking, once again, _to hell with it._ “No, Wash. I don’t wanna make out with you.”

Wash snorts, shoving the pillow off to the side in a way that tells Tucker everything he needs to know. “Well, that’s just _fine_ because—”

He snags Wash’s wrist as he makes to move off the bed. Wash could break Tucker’s grip in half a second, but he doesn’t, just blinks down at Tucker in surprise. “I don’t _just_ wanna make out with you.”

“Yeah, you’ve said—” Wash pauses as he brain catches up with what Tucker said. Good God, it’s like talking to a brick wall. “Wait. What?”

Tucker lets go of his wrist and sits up straighter, because this seems like a conversation that should probably be had face to face. “I wanna fuck you. Or I want you to fuck me. I’m not really picky as long as someone ends up on their back. I mean, doggie style’s cool too, but I bet your face gets really fucking red when you come and I’m not trying to miss out on that, so—”

To Tucker’s dismay, Wash is scoffing and turning away again. He can’t help but feel a little surprised until he sees the obvious hurt on Wash’s face. “If you think that’s _funny_ —”

He grabs Wash’s arm and yanks hard, so that Wash falls back onto the bed. Wash makes a little _oof_ of surprise, which is ridiculously cute, and the wide-eyed looked that Wash gives him when Tucker pins his shoulders to the bed and leans over him is _also_ ridiculously cute and quite frankly Tucker doesn’t know why every single one of their friends isn’t trying to fuck this man into the next century.  “Yeah, I wouldn’t joke about this, dude,” he says, and then leans down and kisses Wash square on the mouth.

Wash makes another one of those surprised noise, and then _another_ noise that’s less surprised and more _something else_ when Tucker bites down on his bottom lip. Wash kisses him back almost instantly, his hands coming up to cup the back of Tucker’s head like they’re in a goddamn romance movie or something. It feels nice, though, Wash’s hands in his hair and his tongue in Tucker’s mouth and holy fuck there is absolutely no reason they shouldn’t have done this six months ago.

Wash looks rather dumbstruck when their lips part, but Tucker is pretty sure his face is locked into a similar expression. “So, yeah, I wanna fuck you,” Tucker says. He strives for casual but his words end up coming out giddy and breathless. Wash’s hands are still stroking through his hair and it’s making it a little hard to think. “And make out with you. And, ya know, buy you coffee and shit. Whatever.”

“Coffee?” Wash says, sounding out the word like Tucker’s speaking a foreign language. It makes Tucker want to kiss him again, so he does, and when they pull apart this time they’re both panting for breath.

“Coffee,” Tucker confirms. He leans down and presses his lips to that little cluster of freckles beneath Wash’s jawline and murmurs against his skin. “We can get some tomorrow.”

“Probably gonna need to get some for everyone anyway,” Wash gasps. “For our—for our friends.”

“Hmm.” Tucker kisses his way over to the other side of Wash’s neck. “Our useless friends.”

“You know I’m a mess, right?”

Tucker stops as Wash blurts out the words and pulls back enough to look him in the eyes. “I know, dude. I’m cool with the mess. Have you seen our pals out there? Bunch of messes if I’ve ever seen them.”

Wash grins, but still looks a bit uncertain so Tucker decides to just go the whole hog. “You know I’ve had a serious thing for you for like, six months now, right?”

Apparently Wash didn’t know, given the way his hands still in Tucker’s hair and his eyes fly open wide. “You—what?”

“Oh, my god.” Tucker drops his head down onto Wash’s chest and groans. “Wash, come _onnnnnn_.”

Wash’s hands resume their stroking through Tucker’s curls, but he still sounds shell-shocked. “I…I didn’t know that, no.”

“Well, I have,” he mutters into Wash’s chest. It’s easier to talk about this without having to look at Wash’s fucking baby blues. “And I’m just saying if you want to like, do the sex and coffee thing, that I’d be totally down with that.”

Wash’s hand is under his chin now, firm and insistent, and Tucker lets him tug until their gazes lock. “The sex and coffee thing.”

“ _Yes_ , Wash. That’s what everyone’s calling it now, god.”

Wash arches an eyebrow and it’s the hottest thing Tucker’s seen in weeks. “That’s what everyone’s calling what?”

“Ya know…” Tucker fidgets. “Dating.”

Wash blinks at him, and the grin that spreads over his face has Tucker thanking the gods for every decision that led him to this moment. “Oh,” Wash says. “Oh. Well. I’d like that, I think. Doing the sex and coffee thing. With you. If you want.”

“Well, goddamn,” Tucker says, and he rolls on top of Wash and lets him feel just how _on board_ he is with this decision. “Why didn’t you _say_ so?”

Wash laughs. Wash laughs into his kiss and Tucker can taste the mint chocolate candies he was eating all night, the ones that Tucker hates but always picks up because Wash eats them like they’re going out of style. They’re not so bad, like this.

They’re not so bad at all.


End file.
